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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/29274000">Somewhere between PR6100 and PR6126</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/sunbeamruins/pseuds/sunbeamruins'>sunbeamruins</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Doctor Who (2005)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Alternate Universe - College/University, F/M</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2021-02-07</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-02-07</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-13 03:47:08</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>1,688</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/29274000</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/sunbeamruins/pseuds/sunbeamruins</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Introductory courses <i>really</i> did not have the right to be this much of a bother.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Tenth Doctor/Rose Tyler</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>6</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>17</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Collections:</b></td><td>Chocolate Box - Round 6</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Somewhere between PR6100 and PR6126</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><ul class="associations">
      <li>For <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/users/Fmnds/gifts">Fmnds</a>.</li>



    </ul><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>apologies for my americanisms, my only college experience has been in the USA (other than one night of pub hopping/clubbing with some mutual friends from st mary's college)</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Sometimes, Rose thought to herself, uni was more work than it needed to be, as she furiously jabbed her finger into the button for the right sublevel of the library basement. Whoever decided to make certain floors available only through specific elevators deserved words. </p>
<p>She knew stairs existed, somewhere. They must exist. Even if no one on campus had seen them in generations. Tracking down the right elevator had seemed easier.</p>
<p>The elevator jittered to a halt at the proper level, and she stepped out into the dim stacks the underpaid student employee had assured her contained the book she needed. She reached into the pocket of her hoodie and pulled out the crumpled post-it note she'd scribbled the call number from the help desk on. Just find the shelf that contained the matching nonsense string of letters and numbers and she'd be fine. </p>
<p>Passing the sparse students huddled around the desks situated near the bank of elevators, she made her way deeper into the stacks. The books were cloaked in darkness, aisle fixtures providing just enough light to navigate the main passageways and read the flimsy call labels.</p>
<p>It took an embarrassingly long time for her to realize the first shelf she thought had the book was in fact in the hundreds, not the thousands like she needed. Sheepishly trawling back through the aisle once more, she thanked the fact that no one witnessed her fuck up. Bad enough she was older than most of the other students. </p>
<p>Snaking two rows deeper into the building, she squinted, holding her post-it note up to the label. The digits lined up. But someone had already twisted on the timer for the shelf light. </p>
<p>Peering down the length of the shelf, she saw a figure silhouetted in the light. In a half-crouch, there was a man was skimming his fingers over the spines of the books, indistinctly muttering to himself. He had a distinctly rumpled suit and hair that looked as if it hadn't seen the right side of a comb in at least a week. </p>
<p>If there was one thing Rose had picked up over these first few weeks, it was that no one really cared much about what people wore or did around campus. The first time someone passed her on a unicycle just cemented that assumption. She hung back anyway. </p>
<p>Eventually a small "Ha!" floated over to where she was skulking in the corner, and she peeked back in time to see him pull out a book and head towards the other end of the shelves.</p>
<p>She waited a beat after he'd disappeared from view before heading in herself. It wasn't antisocial to avoid people in the depths of the library, she reassured herself, just practical. And it wasn't snooping, just curiosity if she wanted to know what he was looking at. </p>
<p>That's all it would've been, had the gap left behind not perfectly sandwiched her call number.</p>
<p>"Shit."</p>
<p>Dashing over to where she'd seen the man last, she could just about see his retreating back leisurely walking over to the elevators.</p>
<p>"Hey!" she shouted at him, then winced at her own volume. </p>
<p>He looked over at her, then incrementally picked up his pace. She broke out into a light jog, hoping to catch up. It was working until he veered off into the books.</p>
<p>The linoleum floor and her sneakers disagreed as she tried to make the turn, sending her nearly skidding into a shelf. Theoretically it didn't matter where she made the turn, as long as she caught him at the other end of the aisle. Unless, of course, the particular aisle she chose happened to be partially enclosed in a cage. </p>
<p>Who puts cages around books, anyway? </p>
<p>Giving up on a direct pursuit, she made a u-turn and sprinted towards the elevators, only to be greeted by the LED displays showing one parked firmly at the lobby level while the other cheerily clicked up the floor numbers towards its brethren. </p>
<p>She collapsed, bent over hands to knees, panting and pointedly ignoring the vaguely alarmed stares from those that had decided this god-forsaken place was a good area for studying. The book was good as gone at this point. Breath caught, she straightened up, brushing her hands on her jeans casually because that was totally-normal-and-she-completely-belongs-here-and-doesn't-feel-like-an-imposter-at-all, no sir.  </p>
<p>She did her best to channel that energy as she stiffly picked her way out of the building and off-campus. </p>
<p>Introductory courses <i>really</i> did not have the right to be this much of a bother.</p>
<hr/>
<p>That could have been the end of the story, just another one of the many odd encounters in the library like the bloody hair that no one ever cleaned in the potentially haunted elevator or the corner that definitely featured in an amateur porn shoot—no matter what the administration claimed, had Rose chosen to ignore the email from her academic advisor. </p>
<p><i>It's never to early to think about the future,</i> the saccharine copy-pasted message had said. At least let me get settled into this semester before we start thinking about the next one, Rose had grumbled to herself as she dutifully set up the meeting.  </p>
<p>That was how she wound up at Prydonian Hall, home of the physics and astronomy department, campus map clenched in hand because god forbid advisors have their own wing instead of being spread out across every building. </p>
<p>A harried junior or senior—honestly how people could tell was beyond her—helpfully pointed her in the correct direction, so now she was sitting on a bench in one of the many unassuming departmental hallways looking down the barrel of another fifteen minutes before her scheduled meeting time. Better than the other option of spiraling the building, frantically counting room numbers while the clock ominously ticked down. Or being late. </p>
<p>All that tuition and yet they couldn't hire someone sane to design any of the floor plans. </p>
<p>Picking at the frayed corner of her map, she settled back to wait and perhaps people-watch, not that there were many offerings. There was some sort of communal space at the end of the hall, nothing fancier than a coffee machine and electric kettle set up on a counter. And an oddly familiar spiky head pulling a blue squarish mug from the cabinet above.</p>
<p>Before Rose fully processed what she was doing, she was marching down the hallway to confront the book thief. </p>
<p>"It's you."</p>
<p>The book thief whirled around, splashing some of the hot water out of the mug and onto his hand with a hiss. He set the mug aside and stuck his knuckle in mouth—sucking on the burn as if it'd help, looking around confusedly before pointing to himself.</p>
<p>"You're the one who took the book from the library," Rose clarified.</p>
<p>Dropping his hand from his mouth, he gave it a shake and a quick wipe on his trousers, confused look still firmly in place. "That's generally what libraries are fo—" Eyes widened as the penny dropped. "You chased me down in the library!"</p>
<p>"I just wanted to ask if I could borrow the book you had, you're the one who started running."</p>
<p>"What else am I supposed to do when someone starts chasing me in the library?"</p>
<p>Rose's intent to question just how often he found himself chased in libraries was rudely interrupted by a muffled call of "Doctor!" from one of the nearby offices. She figured he was the one they were referring to with how his eyes darted over to the door and back. Curiouser and curiouser. </p>
<p>"What does a doctor need <i>Elements of Style</i> for?" she asked.</p>
<p>He blushed, mouth flapping like a fish as he looked torn between her and the door. "I—look I've really got to get back to work," he eventually said, shrugging thumb in the general direction he needed to go.  </p>
<p>She felt her cheeks heat up in response as she realized just how close they'd gotten during the argument. "Yeah, I've got a meeting," she said, hands slipping into her pockets as she took a step back and tilted her body at the bench she'd previously occupied.</p>
<p>That snapped his attention right back on her, as if he'd assumed she'd stormed the building specifically to confront him about the book. "With who?" </p>
<p>"Professor Albrecht."</p>
<p>"Albrecht? What do you need Albrecht for? What does anyone need Albrecht for?" He ruffled a hand through his hair and started pacing, voice progressively raising in pitch as he ran through the questions.</p>
<p>"Advising?" Rose hesitantly interjected.</p>
<p>"Right. Yes. Advising." He swallowed. "Undergrad?"</p>
<p>"Not exactly graduate material, mate."</p>
<p>"Well, you never know," he said with a look, eyes scanning down then back up in not exactly a professional way. "Right. Well."</p>
<p>Rose bit back the defensive urge to explain she'd taken a few years off. </p>
<p>That seemed to clinch the conversation for him, and he headed back to what was presumably his office. She was left staring at a closed door until he sheepishly emerged again a few moments later. </p>
<p>Walking back to his slowly cooling mug, he offered her a business card. "Look, I don't have the book, but I can get it to you. If you want. Or I could just return it and then you could check it out."</p>
<p>"Cheers," she said with a small smile. </p>
<p>He returned the smile, then returned to his office—this time mug of warm water in hand. </p>
<p>The card was the standard university design but crisp with the freshness of a newly-printed batch. <i>John Smith, PhD</i> it read, listing the physics department and an extension, which had been hastily scribbled out and replaced with a mobile number. </p>
<p>He was attractive enough, she mused, and she could always check what the university site said about him beforehand. A small voice in the back of her head that sounded annoyingly like her mum also pipped up with a small "a doctor, Rose!" before she squashed it back down. </p>
<p>Mind made up, she flipped the card over and stuck it in her pocket. </p>
<p>There was a meeting to attend. And another certainly more interesting one to schedule.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>if you're wondering why the doctor needed elements of style, it's because the department ambushed him and told him his grant proposals needed to be written in english comprehensible to the average human. he's Schrödinger's post-doc: simultaneously the most and least favored until you ask Rassilon (the department head).</p></blockquote></div></div>
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